The Wasting Years
by Daedalus13
Summary: After the war, and effort was made to recount the lives of the survivors so that no one would forget what they went through. This is one such interview. The original wording of the survivor Albert C. Hale has been kept.
1. The Story Begins

( _Contained here is an interview of the survivor Albert C. Hale. The interviewer has kept Albert's original wording and phrasing. Any grammatical mistakes made are true to Albert's speech. Cochlean Entertainment does not endorse the views expressed herein.)_

"You'll probably want to know what the hell happened here, because that's the first thing anyone wants to know. 'Tell me the story' they ask, one way or another. And I don't blame them for it; we're all just trying to understand. But that's the thing, you know? If you weren't there, and didn't see it happen, you _can't_ understand."

"Then try to help me understand. I wasn't there, so I can't, but try to make me."

"Yeah, yeah, of course I'm going to. If I wasn't gonna try it then I wouldn't even be here, would I? I'd be off hiding from you all, hiding from everything that happened. But I'm here, so I'll give it a chance.

"I guess the best place to start is the beginning, but there's no way I'm telling you every detail of my life that led up to this point. So I'll start at the right place instead of the best: that day in chemistry."

ONE

~In which the Story is Begun~

I remember exactly what was going on and what I was thinking about when it all happened, you know. I won't tell you what I was thinking about because she's none of your business, but the teacher, Anthony Casey, was standing up in front of us all spouting off facts about electrons and atoms and orbitals and I had no idea what the hell was happening. Super confusing stuff, you know? And I'm wedged into the corner of the classroom with some Mexican guy next to me that I had never been introduced to, and one of those super sweet couples that are just MADE for each other and make me sick is seated right in front of me, and there's all sorts of other community college goers, like the overweight middle-aged woman and the athlete-that-doesn't-fit-the-stereotype-at-all-'cause-he's-actually-a-pretty-cool-guy, in the room having no problem paying attention. And it's incredibly boring, listening to a lecture that you don't understand, but you have to sit there and take it. So I'm not paying attention at all.

But then something happened.

Somebody screamed outside the room, in the commons area just down the hallway. Then the stampede of feet, and the yelling, and Casey walking over and closing the door and continuing his incomprehensible lecture on electron configurations. It was like it was a normal thing, and it shouldn't disrupt class, this screaming and yelling and running around. Of course, the intruder alert that sounded over the speakers kind of disrupted the class, but that should be a given.

So when the alarm sounded, we all moved calmly over to the wall next to the door (I say calmly because nobody ever thinks it's more than a drill until they're made to realize it). But, being the furthest from that point of refuge, I was in front of that tiny little window in the door last. So I was the only one that got to see it.

I was the first, of that classroom at least, to see those dead things that should be laying down not moving but instead are eating. (What, you want a better description? Well too bad, you asked for the interview, so I'm telling it like I saw it, and that's what they are, so screw you and your job.)

Where was I? Right, the dead dude. This is the same building that had the veteran student club thing, and he had on a hat promoting it, so I guess he was one of them? Which is super sad and depressing, actually. Like, the guy was off in the military so that I didn't have to, and he finally makes it home, and gets into college, and he thinks he's safe now, and BOOM now he's dead and making other people dead too. But he's doing that dead-dude shuffle down the hallway, arms stretched out and everything. And then that middle-aged woman does a damn fine impression of the Umbridge cough: 'hem hem!' like there's not some dead guy walking around not two feet from her through the wall. So the guy's head turns and stares straight through the window, right at me.

That's really when I realized that the guy was seriously dead. It was a couple weeks before Halloween, so I thought before that maybe the guy is getting a head start on his costume, by acting like a zombie without really looking like one. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's moaning and groaning and reaching for me and stuff, but he's not all bloody and torn up. He had on a white T-shirt, and probably jeans, and only his forearm had any kind of injury. He must have been bitten and then got home and cleaned up the wound, because he looked fine other than being dead. His shirt was impressively white.

Anyway, he starts beating on the door, trying to break it down, and the entire class is terrified. Myself included, I'll admit that. Casey though, has to be given credit. He apparently was fine with being fired and arrested, 'cause here he comes pulling a Glock out of his bag. I know, I know, 'seriously, a Glock? That's embarrassing, they're so ugly and how do you even know what it was?' I worked at my dad's gun shop, so I know guns. Casey had a Glock 43, one of those new single stack 9mm's that everyone had been so crazy about a couple months ago. But he goes and gets in front of the door, holding his gun with both hands, shaking like crazy. (Personally, I had no problem with him as a person and a teacher. It wasn't his fault I didn't understand quantum mechanics, it's just a super confusing subject, and the whole carrying on school grounds just reinforced his being a cool guy.)

And he lets off a shot, but he's shaking so much that it hits the floor in front of the door. But the shot seemed to settle him a little bit, because he got this weird look in his eyes, and he ripped off his tie and aimed again, this time hitting the glass of the little window in the door. Action movies would have you think that it would automatically hit the dead guy, killing (re-killing?) him. But alas, such was not the case. The bullet shattered the window, but whizzed past the dude's left ear.

And now more of the dead guy was getting covered in blood because he was reaching through the window and the glass was shredding his arms. Casey fires again, and the dead guy finally starts acting like he's dead, and everybody's ears are ringing from the gunshots, and we're all of us terrified, and the entire door is covered in blood and goo from inside the guy's head, and it's suddenly very quiet in the room.

After that, it gets a little hazier. I'm sure that we escaped the classroom, but I don't know who opened the door. I know that I made it to my car, and somehow Casey and the Mexican dude were with me, but I don't remember how we got there or why they were with me. People were getting in their cars and driving out of the parking lot and getting into wrecks and screaming and crying, and there's other people eating folks, and everything was one massive shitstorm.

But we made it to my dad's shop, which was actually only maybe four or five miles away, and when we got out to go inside, suddenly the Mexican guy wasn't there; he was off down the street. I never saw him again. Casey, though, stuck with me, and after we had finished loading everything from the shop up into our cars, and all the employees—Jacob, Daniel, and the new guy George—went their separate ways, my dad pulled me aside into his office.

"Albert," he said. "Albert, we're going to the house. You're coming with us, and later on we can go back to your place and get all of your stuff, but right now we're going home." And I remember nodding, and being handed a gun (also happened to be a Glock, a 19 this time, even though I think they're ugly and boring). But I remember getting back into my Jeep and driving off in a general home-ward direction. After that, things get even hazier.


	2. The Car Breaks Down

"So you just happened to have the family gun shop nearby? You made it out of the school, took everything from the gun store, and headed home, taking your chemistry teacher with you?"

"Well it sounds silly and made up when you say it like that, but yeah. My dad had moved into the building like five years before I started at that school, and Casey really just happened to be there with me. I'm not really sure why he was there, but I swear he was with me.

"And you weren't talking much to him?

"No, we were discussing the weather and the game last night. Jeez, no, we weren't talking much! There were dead people shambling around eating living people! Casey himself had to shoot a guy in the head! We were both a little weirded out, you know? Add that to the fact that he was a teacher whose class I was failing and we didn't really know each other, and you get a fairly quiet car ride!"

"Ok, ok, I get it, not many words shared between you two right then. So what happened after you got home?"

"I don't know what happened there. Neither me nor Casey ever made it to the house."

TWO

~In which the Car Breaks Down~

I may or may not have mentioned it before, but I drove a Jeep Wrangler back then. Nowadays, of course, I drive whatever is around, but back when I had a choice, the Wrangler was my top pick. The Jeep didn't run when I first got it. My dad and I spent like a year fixing it so that it would work, and even then it still had leaks in the coolant pipes, a non-existent AC, and this weird electrical drain issue. So things may have been going fine for most of the day: I wasn't dead and now had a gun and had met up with my family, and was heading for home, but of course we can't have everything go right, 'cause that would be a boring adventure.

We were driving down a street, dodging cars in the middle of the road, cussing out the other drivers, and occasionally swerving around people. You may think I'm a horrible person for not stopping to shoot every zombie I saw right then and there, but I had stuff to do, you know? Plus I was majorly freaked out.

There's not much in this world that scares me, but I've always been awful with dead humans (and whales too, but seeing as there aren't many of those in Missouri, that wasn't as big of an issue). Just keep that tidbit in mind: I don't do well with dead people. Which, as you might imagine, was kind of an issue.

Anyways, I have to make a detour, because right after my dad drives through an intersection no less than four cars ram into each other, completely blocking the street. I barely managed to hit the brakes and yank the wheel to the left to avoid becoming a casualty in that little misfortune. As it was, we had turned right into a parking lot filled with yet more dead people and screaming crying living people.

I'm not proud that I hit some of those people with my car. I'd rather not talk about the people that I let get eaten and die. But I was asked for an honest account of what happened, so there it is. I'm no hero.

We did eventually make it out of that parking lot, with a lot more dents in the front bumper than we had when we went in. When I got us out, we had been directed south when we should have been going west. I took the next road we came to, but I hadn't realized that there was housing behind the shopping center, and those stupid little neighborhood roads never go in a straight line. So we ended up further south than west, which was not in the plan.

The car was not doing well with the beating it had taken from the parking lot, and the stress I was putting on that old engine. I guess it had started smoking for quite a while before I finally noticed it, and by the time I did, it was a bit too late. We hit one last body on the little neighborhood road (one that was actually dead, this time), and that was it. When the car slammed into it and came back down on the other side of it, the engine shut off. It was just too much for my old jeep to take.

So Casey and I were carless, and even though we had several bags of guns and ammo in the back of the jeep, we were in trouble. (If this was a TV show, the show would end right here and we'd pick back up on the thrilling adventures of Rick Grimes next week. But this isn't the Walking Dead, unfortunately.)

That was when our argument started. Casey I guess had finally realized that he and I didn't know each other, and he had his own family to find. Me breaking my car probably also didn't help. I was fine with him wandering off on his own, but he wanted to take a bag with him.

Look, I'm a reasonable guy. I would've given him another couple boxes of ammo for his gun. Hell, I would've tossed him another couple magazines! But I couldn't let him go off with an entire bag of goodies from my dad's shop. That's over two hundred dollars' worth of stuff! (This is back when I still measured things by their monetary worth, mind you.) 'You owe me for saving your life!' he says, probably referring to the Incident at the School. And he's right, but I paid him back for that by getting him out of there, and he was saving himself at the same time, so it doesn't really count. The rule goes like this: if you're saving somebody's ass, but you're also saving yours at the same time, then the other guy doesn't owe you anything. If you're walking along fine and dandy, and go out of your way to save somebody else, then the guy owes you. But if you're a decent guy then you don't try to use that as a bargaining chip later on, you just grow up and move on.

Words were exchanged. Most of them cuss words (I'm trying to keep this interview relatively clean, so I won't go into huge detail on the argument). Casey shoved me—make a note of that, he started it and made it physical. But he shoved me, so I shoved him back. Shoving turned to actual fighting. Remember how I said I liked the guy? Yeah, toss that out the window now. I was pissed, and he wasn't backing off. It ended the only way it could have; we drew on each other. Almost at the exact same time, actually. We couldn't have timed it better if we'd tried! Of course, what with the adrenaline thumping and the fact that he was kind of smaller than me (and the Glock 19 is bigger than the 43, even though they're the same caliber), I finally convinced Casey to run off.

I'm not a killer, alright? I'm just a twenty year old kid from Missouri. Plus I still remembered that he wasn't a bad guy, and I don't know, I must have felt bad. So I let him go and climbed back into the Jeep to pull out the two bags. When I had them situated on my back, and had stuffed the first aid kit from the back of the Jeep into one of the bags, I started walking.

I could have made it home. It was only twenty miles off, through a (small-ish) city full of the dead and dying. I really think I could have made it.


	3. Refuge is Found

"But you didn't make it home that day, did you?"

"Nah, not so much. I had maybe a couple hours at most before the sun went down, and even on a normal day it would've taken at least three to hike that far. Add the dead and the nutjobs out and about back then, and it would've taken more like five or six."

"Where did you go, then? I can't imagine many people were willing to help out a guy with two bags of guns."

"Ha! No, not as such. I knew it was gonna be an issue, so I did what everyone else was doing: running around like nuts."

"And how well did that work for you?"

THREE

~In which Refuge is Found~

I've been asked before how I carried all of that gear around with me for days, 'til I got back home. I've always answered the same way: I didn't. There's a couple things you have to realize here. First, get it through your head that I never made it back home. I never got back to my parent's house; I still haven't been back, and this is like what, two years after the war ended? (Wow, has it really only been two years? Damn. Feels like longer.) Second, I'm crazy strong and I can carry fifty pounds for weeks on end by myslef. (No, not really, but I'll get to that part later.)

Anyway, right after Casey ran off I did the same. I managed to struggle on for maybe five minutes until the first zombie came after me from out of one of the houses. I tell you, it's hard enough to shoot a handgun accurately without two crazy heavy bags hanging off your shoulders. Even less so when you know that if you don't score a direct headshot on the shambling moaner, it's going to eat you until you die. So I wasted a couple rounds due to shaking hands and flinching every time that gun sounded off.

That's another thing movies don't teach you. Guns are loud. You're supposed to have ear protection, but that means being deaf to the world around you. There's really no good option.

Three rounds later, the zombie was like two feet from me. I did eventually manage to hit her in the head, but I got covered in her insides in the process. Which made me puke my guts out immediately after. That was the first one I ever killed. First human, first zombie. I wasn't real proud of myself, but I was so pumped up on adrenaline that I didn't fully get what had just happened. I wouldn't realize it until a couple days later, but that's getting ahead of the story.

I pulled myself together and decided that the house that lady had come out of was probably safe enough to hide out in, because my other shots would have brought out any other zombie in there, and there probably wasn't anyone alive in there.

Of course, I was still awake enough to know that I wanted nothing to do with dead people laying around half eaten in the house, so I moved on. I should've just bucked up and gone in, but I was a wuss and was new to all this. I eventually found my way back further into the neighborhood, and a family was kind enough to come running out of their house, shrieking their heads off.

This was around maybe six thirtyish? Maybe a little later. Whatever the time, the sun was starting to go down, and I was much more willing to go inside with a dead person than I was to stay outside with the dead in the dark. So, being the newbie that I was, I shuffled up to the door of the house the family had just exited.

Now, of course, I realize that that may not have been the best idea. They had to have left in the hurry that they did for a reason. I just wasn't thinking it through. So I waltzed in through the door and was immediately met with the family's little daughter. And boy, was she happy to see me! She crawled over to me and began gnawing on my shoe before I figured out what she was. Which made me turn and boot her out the door in a hurry.

You ever see those movies with the possessed little kid that starts killing people? This was kind of like that, but infinitely worse because I was actually there dealing with it.

I slammed the door shut and held it closed against her tiny fists hammering and clawing at the door like a deranged cat. When it seemed that the door would hold against the two year old's body, I took a look around.

The house was just a normal everyday lower class kind of house, which made it worse. I had met the people that lived here (briefly), and they were real people rather than characters in a story. So I had to force myself to go through each and every room of that place, trying to ignore the previous occupants' possessions and check every window and door to make sure it was secure.

Once I was sure it was all good, I helped myself to some of their generic Poptarts (what were they called? Toaster Pastries, or something? Anyway, the faux strawberry flavor was good). I felt a little bad about stealing, but I didn't figure they were coming back for their 'Toaster Pastries', and I hadn't eaten since eleven—it was now around seven. I did force myself to drink some water, and fill up some bottles for later, but I never did have to pee. I guess I was too tightly wound for that.

There was one room I couldn't bring myself to check. It may sound stupid, but I just couldn't go down into the basement. I know it wasn't safe for me to not check it, and I seriously could have died and been eaten, but it was scary down there, so back off.

The one thing I did do right that first night was go through what I had in my bags. I had ended up with six handguns, four rifles, and five shotguns, along with extra magazines and ammo and holsters and whatnot. I spent the next couple of hours planning out how to carry everything, and ended up carrying the Glock on my right hip and a Benelli pump action 12 gauge in my hands. I think it was a Nova? I don't know, shotguns weren't my area of expertise. I was always more comfortable with revolvers, lever actions, and black powder (of course, nowadays I'm comfortable with using pretty much whatever is at hand. Hell, I've even gotten to be a decent knife chucker). After I got all that sorted, I lay back down to sleep.

Guess what. I didn't sleep that night.

The noise of the dead stumbling around and moaning, the people screaming and yelling, the occasional car screech or gunshot…

It was not very conducive to my sleep patterns. So I stayed huddled in a corner of the room, shaking and crying that entire night (don't judge me; I'm allowed to cry when the entire world goes to shit and I have to kill someone for the first time). In the morning though, the sun came out bright and cheery, just like the sun has been known to do.

I'd like to be able to say that everything was quiet in the morning, that it had all died down and the streets were eerily empty and quiet. That there was no sound at all; no moans, no shuffling of feet, no cars, no nothing. But I can't say that, because I'm supposed to be telling the truth.


	4. The First Group

"But the street wasn't quiet? Why do you keep stopping in the middle of the story?"

"Because it was a rough time in my life. I'd never killed anyone. I'd never had to survive a zombie apocalypse. I mean come one, you had to do it to. Give me a break here, you know it was rough!"

"Ah… I actually… ahem, I actually never had to live through all of that. I was stationed with the American government in California."

"Oh.

You're one of _those_ people. I knew there was a reason I didn't like you."

"You'll continue the interview, I hope?"

"…Yeah, alright. But only so that you have a chance to understand real people, rather than the guys that hid out and let us all die. Just as long as you know that I hate you."

FOUR

~In which I Find My First Group~

So no, the street was crazy loud, exactly like it was the night before. If anything, it was crazier. But I gotta tell you about the coffee that family had in their pantry. They may have had a zombie kid and thrift store clothes and dollar store furniture, but damn was their coffee fine. It wasn't one of those bags that you buy at Wal-Mart, see, it was the kind that you've gotta go to some kind of fancy-ass coffee aficionado shop to find. I mean like, this stuff was hand-picked in Peru and I even had to hand grind those beans right there in the kitchen. That coffee was the finest stuff I've ever had, and I've had some coffee in my time. I just wish I could find that family and thank them for buying those super fine beans.

But then I went outside, and my morning got worse in a hurry.

Apparently people didn't know how to survive a zombie attack, because there were a lot more zombies than there were the day before. I'm not sure exactly how I got off that street, 'cause I didn't have that much ammo in my shotgun. But I did manage to get through without being bit or scratched (so many people forget that being scratched is another way to be infected. It's actually more common, but everyone tends to focus on the bite). I wasn't dressed for zombie slaying, either, so I really should have died from that little excursion.

I only had on a hoodie and some jeans, like a normal guy. Which is unfortunate, because zombies grab at you and pull and like I said, I should have died.

And by 'make it off the street' I mean ran and hide in another house. I went out the back door and into the neighbor's yard, and kept going like that. One yard to the next, because the fences kinda sorta kept the zombies out. At least they did for a little while; they worked well enough while I needed them, but I'm not omniscient so I don't know how long they held.

Anyway, I finally made it out of the neighborhood. The plan was to make it out of town, but I think we all know that didn't happen right away. I found myself in the parking lot of one of those little grocery stores you find scattered throughout the cities. 'Sir Saves-a-lot' or something. I don't know, the name wasn't super important at the time. What was important was that there was a group running inside and then some muffled bangs and they quickly came running back out.

So, in an attempt to find somewhere relatively safe to catch my breath, I ran up to them and offered my services, such as they were. A few short hours later, we had the place boarded up and cleared of all dead and semi-dead people.

That in itself was a story worthy of ten interviews by itself. None of us died or almost died. But man, clearing out that grocery store was almost impossible. I killed more in there, you know. There was a lady in her work uniform, a guy that reminded me of Casey even though it wasn't him, and another guy that was maybe sixteen. I'll never forget them, but I have a hard time talking about it, so I won't.

My mind blocks out boring stuff, so I won't tell you how I stayed there with them for the next couple weeks. I will tell you about who I stayed with, though.

The leader was clearly Jamal. He was an alright guy, very grown up and adult and together. His brother or cousin or something, Terry, was the exact opposite. I guess Jamal felt like he had to take care of him? I don't know, but Terry was verbally and physically abusive, a natural drinker, and incredibly childish and aggressive. Imagine a particularly stupid, competitive, fifth grader that was in his twenties or thirties. After them, there was Alicia, Morgan, and Noah. Alicia was Terry's… girlfriend? Maybe? I don't know, Terry was confusing to me. Morgan worked with Jamal before everything went to shit, and I guess they had escaped together. She was around my age. Noah was a balding middle aged white guy that was probably a manager at some store or fast food place somewhere. I think he was Jamal and Morgan's boss before.

We mostly got along together. Obviously Terry and Alicia were the outliers in the group, but the rest of us got along fine.

And yes, before you ask, me and Morgan got along better than me and everyone else. But seriously, I wasn't even thinking about that. Those kinds of thoughts poof out of your head when there's a zombie apocalypse going on outside. And I guess it didn't help that I hadn't showered in several days, and still had some zombie insides on me from the ones I shot. I did find out that she was thinking that way, but not until later. It's funny, we actually eventually— no, wait, I'll tell that part when I get to it.

I do have some good memories of Morgan, one in particular. I mean it's not like, a _good_ memory, but one that I remember well. I've actually got a voice recording of her, and you'll have to forgive the sobbing and sniffing and general crying. It, uh, was somebody else, I swear. I'm tough, I don't cry. I'm a man, I tell you!

 _The following is a transcript of Albert Hale's voice recording of a conversation between himself and a woman known only as 'Morgan'. All superfluous noises have been edited out._

[a door creaks open, then shuts quietly] "Albert? Are you alright? I heard some noises in here, and I thought maybe you… I thought you might need someone right now…"

"Huh? Oh, uh, y-yeah, c'mon in. Er, actually, gimme just one second, I—"

"Albert, no, really it's ok! I just wanted to, y'know, be around for you right now. You're obviously going through something, and I mean, I guess we all kind of are, but not, like… Look, Jamal's making some dinner, and Noah's re-organizing the shelves—again—and I don't really like hanging out with Terry and Alicia when they've been drinking, so it's not like you're taking me away from anything and God, I've been rambling like an old Englishman on a walk, and why won't you stop me?"

[a snort of laughter, coming from Albert] "You're thinking of 'ambling', not 'rambling'. And aren't Terry and/or Alicia always drinking at least one kind of booze? There's gonna be real trouble when they finally empty that aisle. What's for dinner tonight, has Jamal said?"

"Chicken teriyaki Ramen, but don't change the subject. What's up, Albert?"

"Ugh. Fine, since you won't go bother Jamal to make something other than Ramen. I was in college for a year before this started. Ramen's getting old.

I was just thinking about the day before I ran into you guys. It was a bad day."

"Really? The day that the world went to hell was a bad day for you?"

"I… I had to kill someone. I'd never done that before. And before that, I watched people get eaten, and I didn't do anything. I just drove past. And even more than that, I hit them with my fucking car! I had to swerve into a parking lot and I hit at least four people—living, screaming people—people that were pleading with me, begging me to save them! I made them die! It's my fault they're dead!"

"Albert! It is NOT your fault! God, Albert, you would have died too if you had stopped and tried to help them! It was their fault for being in the road; cars have the right of way! I refuse to allow you to blame yourself!"

[a door creaks open again] "Uh, hey, Jamal said to tell you that dinner was ready, so come out and get some… when you, uh, are ready, I mean."

"Thanks, Noah. We'll be out in a sec." [a door shuts quietly] "Albert, please, nobody blames you. Not even those people can hate you. And honestly, I bet the zombie lady was glad you shot her. I know it's what I'd want. Now come on. Let's go see if we can find some canned tuna or something to toss in that Ramen."

"Thanks, Morgan. Really, thank you. I don't feel awesome, just yet, but… yeah.

And really? Tuna, in chicken teriyaki Ramen? What is this, amateur hour? Lead me to the canned meats aisle, and I'll show you how to cook some low-budget, high-class Ramen."

 _End voice recording._

I've got some other voice recordings of her, but I think I'll keep some of those just for me. She had a habit of recording conversations or monologues (she was very fond of monologues; she considered them to be the highest form of art—her words, not mine). She sent me that one a few months after it was made, once the phones were back up. Morgan was a good girl. I miss her.


End file.
